


Man fakes his own death: Here's how

by Why_is_the_rum_gone



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Canon Era, Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15516234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Why_is_the_rum_gone/pseuds/Why_is_the_rum_gone
Summary: He had to get him out of here.“Speak nothing of what has transpired here. Henceforth, Mercutio is dead, and his body lies with his kinsman in the Escalus vault of his forefathers"When Mercutio is stabbed by Tybalt, Benvolio pronounces him dead. Its not exactly the truth.





	Man fakes his own death: Here's how

_A plague on both your houses_

Benvolio’s hands trembled, dripping red.

_Oh God. Oh God._

He needed a surgeon. Where was the page?

The church door was ajar, the pews empty. He hurried in, sliding as gently as he could to the floor, Mercutio still weak in his arms.

_A grave man._

He raised his head, picking up on quickening steps outside. The page ran in, taking in the sight of his master’s blood on the floor, chest heaving. A surgeon arrived behind him, paling like it was his blood on the stone.

‘It is worse than I had believed when his man came to me’

‘Will he yet live?’

‘I do not know, but it is very unlikely. You should prepare for the worst. Here, lay him on the ground. Step back’

Benvolio did as he was told, then bit his lip and reached forward to grasp Mercutio’s hand. How long wold it be warm in his? He felt a small squeeze.

He hated this. Hated having to watch, helpless, on the side. In that moment, he hated Verona and the society that had allowed him to sit here, holding the hand of a dying man. If this is what his fair city chose for their royalty while their legions of poor died where they stood, he wanted no part in it.

Mercutio’s hand had gone limp in his, and if the surgeon were not still working with his precise, controlled yet fast movements, he would have presumed the worst. His breathing was too shallow to be heard. Even the trickle of red at the side of his quick, clever mouth had stilled its course, matching the pool of blood at his side like a lady might match her skirts and hat.

Benvolio blinked his eyes twice and shook his head, sharp movement doing little to drown out the din in his mind. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what to do with him gone, like the Earth trying to survive only in the light of the new moon without the suns gentle rays to uplift it. Sunlight that tasted of humour, sly smiles couples with sly words, teasing and taunting. It tasted of ale in the night-time taverns, listening to Romeo and his poetry for the next maiden that caught his fancy. Evenings filled with quiet conversation in a haze of wine and trust.

It struck him, then, like it was he Tybalt had used as a sheath.

_I love him_

He loved him. Loved Mercutio for God knows how long, unaware and in secret. He loved him, and he was going to die. Perhaps he would survive this night, the night that would  

plague Benvolio’s dreams, but there would always be another fight, Mercutio always in the thick of it, Another Capulet, another needless feud. Another Tybalt. Could he ask Mercutio to give up who he was? Not for a love he would no doubt scorn, or worse, pity. It didn’t matter. He had to get him out of here.

He reached into his pocket and took out a bag of emergency coins. His mother had called him foolish, had said that to carry such currency around did nothing but tempt the fates. Now, it appeared, she was mistaken. He took a large portion, enough to feed a poor family for weeks, and handed it to the surgeon.  It was enough for him to look up from his work with shock.

“This is far beyond my service worth!”

“Aye, for the extra is to buy a second service”

He gave some to the page. Perhaps once he would have smiled at the way his eyes grew comically large, but he could not bring himself to feel much of anything but anxiety for what he had chosen to do.

“Speak nothing of what has transpired here. Henceforth, Mercutio is dead, and his body lies with his kinsman in the Escalus vault of his forefathers. I must now depart. Until I doth return, stray not from his side”

He awaited the nods of conformation with thinly veiled impatience then left. With all the dignity he could muster, he made himself wait until he was out of sight, then began to sprint, heart threatening to burst out of his ribcage. What the people of Verona must have though at the sight of a Montague man running like the very whips of the devil were behind him and clothes stained with red.

“Oh Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead,                                                                                                                                                                                         That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds                                                                                                                                                                                             Which too untimely here did scorn the Earth”

Romeo, his little cousin, more like a brother turned, eyes closing in grief. Anguish settled in upon his face like a veil.

“This day’s black fate on mo days doth depend                                                                                                                                                                                     This but begins the woe others must end”

And Benvolio’s heart did break for what he was doing to his cousin with his falsity. His cruel selfishness. Later on, he would speculate to himself on lonely nights where only the what-ifs? Kept him company but could never give himself an answer of what he would have said next; Broken and poured out the truth like a dam under pressure or stood resolute. In the end he said nothing, for Tybalt reappeared again.

“Here comes that furious Tybalt back again”

Romeos lip curled in a mix of disgust and contempt, and Benvolio thinks he must be of a similar state. If Mercutio were now truly dead, he thinks he would attack him in blind vengeance, unleashing the storm that even now reared its ugly head in hatred in the depths of his stomach.

“Again in triumph, and Mercutio slain                                                                                                                                                                                                    Away to heaven respective identity                                                                                                                                                                                                       And fine-ey’d fury be my conduct now!”

Romeo’s eyes burned.

Tybalt almost snarled “Thou wretched boy, that didst consort him here shall will him hence”

“This shall determine that”

With a cry Romeo lunged forward, rapier out, and with such ferocity that Tybalt barely managed to sidestep.

“Hold Romeo!”

Benvolio yelled, but it was too late. Tybalt had drawn and would now never relent. He watched, helpless, again with a sickening wave of déjà vu and they parried and attempted to open the door to the others mortality. He couldn’t look away as Romeo’s blade slipped smooth into Tybalt’s abdomen. The prince of cats let out a soundless cry and fell forward, expired.

His cousin, a murderer, by Benvolio’s hand.

“Romeo, away, be gone”, he choked out. “The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain! Stand not amazed. The prince will doom thee death”

He grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and shook him. “Romeo!”

His eyes snapped up to meet his, and the fear in them reminded Benvolio of a young boy, ten years old, caught sneaking into his uncle’s study by his cousin. It made Benvolio want to cry. Romeo nodded, and began to run, with one last glance to the body behind him. Benvolio tried to control his breathing, ready to talk to the prince as a new horde arrived. The prince led Montague, Capulet and their wives through the gathering crowds.

“Where are the vile beginners of this fray?”

The minute Benvolio had finished his explanation and the prince departed, he ran as fast as he could to the church, millions of thoughts battling for dominance in his head. He’d just lied to the prince of Verona, in the worst possible manner. He had told him his kinsman was dead.                                                                                                    

Mercutio had been given a cushion from one of the wooden benches for his head but lay, still silent, on the floor. Benvolio dropped to his side. A cough to the right of him made him tear his eyes away from Mercutio’s face.

“He will live for you, and the rest of the world will mourn him”

“Thank you” For what had been given, he felt he should say more, but couldn’t seem t speak. The words stuck in his throat and took some swallowing. His gaze returned to Mercutio. He saw the surgeon and the page leave from the corner of his eye.

He blinked back his tears again, these from relief. Tomorrow, he idly wondered, would he be able to feel anything at all, or were they spent on the emotional rollercoaster of today? He picked up Mercutio bridal style and draped on of his arms across his shoulders. He walked the short distance to the nearest inn that way, where he bought an old, worn out horse with the rest of his money. He covered Mercutio In a blanket like a cloak. He stopped once more at his family home to pick up extra money, hurrying down the stairs like a man possessed. He paused outside his father’s study. Should he leave a note? He decided against it, else he’d be sat at that desk until the sun set trying to come up with something to say.

In the infant hours of the morning, together they left Verona.

The ride to mantua took less than a day. They found a small inn, and Benvolio paid before carrying Mercutio upstairs, making idle excuses of ale to inquisitive eyes. Upstairs Benvolio lay Mercutio down as gently as he could, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, then knelt beside the bed as though he was about to begin prayer. Slowly, he lifted up Mercutio’s shirt and bandages. He sighed in relief. The stitches were still, thankfully, intact.

He rolled the layers of fabric back down again and instead grasped his hand like a lifeline and prayed for morning.

Morning bought little change.  Mercutio still slept, and Benvolio spent the hours alternating between worrying about Mercutio and debating his decision. His conceit. It was turning out to be the worst 48 hours of his life.

He never let go of his hand.

Benvolio left in the afternoon for food and water and bought them up to their rooms. He ate 3 mouthfuls and couldn’t handle more than that without feeling like it would come up again at any second. He fell asleep next to Mercutio’s bed, still holding tight to his hand.

He was woken halfway through the afternoon, amber light still spilling on the ground through a crack in the curtains, by light whimpers of pain. His eyes flew open and he lifted his head from where he had slept by Mercutio’s thigh. He moved to smooth out the bedsheets, and to perhaps get a cloth and cold water if Mercutio’s temperature had risen like the doctor had warned, then stopped. Mercutio’s eyes were open and alert, seemingly content to watch him quietly.

He didn’t know what to say. Mercutio didn’t seem to either. He struggled forwards, wincing. In a flash, Benvolio was up and moving to support his back, helping him to sit up and placing his pillows behind him. He nervously perched next to him, almost falling off. Mercutio rolled his eyes in that way he used to at Benvolio behind Romeo’s back as he told them in great detail about his feelings after another rejection. He reached out and pulled him securely onto the bed.

“Dark have been my dreams of late. I recall Tybalt and you carrying me in clarity, then it fades. An unknown face. A surgeon? Please, speak. What has happened?”

“Your mind does not deceive you. You were on the brink of death from Tybalt’s wounds. Fortune favours you, it seems, for you yet live. But much has happened since. Romeo, in revenge, slew Tybalt, and as such has been banished from Verona. About that, I am thankful. I thought the penalty may be death.”

Mercutio frowned. “Over a scratch”

Benvolio closed his eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths. He could not lie to him, but he couldn’t bear to think how it would hurt him.

“He believed you to be dead, for I had just told him so”

“Why?” He didn’t sound angry, but Benvolio knew it was only a matter of time. Mercutio never was one to hold back on emotions.

“As hard to admit as it is, I was scared, and you injured besides. The surgeon had predicted your death, and if the fates smiled upon you and you miraculously lived, I knew no other way to keep you safe”

“Where are we?” His voice was still quiet and level, but now icy rather than reassuring.

“Mantua”

“How is this safer than Verona, now the prince of cats has wasted all nine lives?”

“The feud lives on, and you, neither Capulet nor Montague, cannot seem to help but involve thyself more than I!”

“You did not drag Romeo away, though you love him like a brother” His voice was beginning to get louder. Strange as it may seem, it actually calmed Benvolio somewhat. This Mercutio, he knew how to deal with. It didn’t stop his next comment exploding into the tension

“I did not watch him bleed onto my hand, arms full of his near-dead body!”

“I am sorry”

“Nay, that line should be mine. I did not intend to rage at you so”

Mercutio was silent for a moment.

“Where is Romeo?”

“Mantua, as we are”

“I wish to see him”

“Mercutio, please” He pretended that his voice wasn’t cracking. Mercutio was kind enough not to comment on it.

“He deserves to know”

“He’ll hate me” Benvolio looked down at his hands, twisting them in the sheets.

“I’ll tell him the surgeon had pronounced me so before a miracle recovery: that you did not know. I’ll tell him not to let it spread to Verona”

Benvolio felt himself caving, so he just nodded. A beat of silence followed, and then he felt a warm hand cup his cheek, gently lifting up his head until he met Mercutio’s eyes.

“We can see him in an hour. You need to eat first”

“I will” His hand was still on his cheek; His thumb wiped away a tear Benvolio didn’t even know was falling.

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be”

Benvolio smiled faintly. For something to do, he stood, Mercutio’s hands falling from his face. He passed him the tray of food and sat back down on the bed.

“Benvolio” His head snapped up. “You never answered my question”

_“Benvolio, you never answered my question”_

_He gave a light smile. “What question?”_

_Mercutio flopped onto his bed with a long-suffering sigh._

_“The one where I asked you what maiden has caught your eyes, and you cunningly turned it to a complaint about Romeo’s never-ending stream, which you know I simply cannot resist complaining about”_

_“Not cunningly enough for you it seems”_

_“I adore your flattery, but I still require an answer”_

_“There is no answer I can give you that will satisfy you, for I have my sights on none, and doubt any maiden will ever enthral me so”_

_“I think so to myself the same, on occasion, but always I remember how lonely such an existence would be”_

_“You’d have me” A beat. “And Romeo”_

_“When he’s not mooning and writing sonnets over his latest maiden, certainly” Mercutio grinned, and they turned back to their complaints of his state over Rosaline._

_“I’m going to take him to a Capulet ball to get over her”_

_Benvolio raised an eyebrow. “Do you jest?”_

_“Nay, I am serious”_

_“The fiery Tybalt shall undoubtedly recognise our voices”_

_“And what of it?” Mercutio shrugged. “Old Capulet would never allow him to cause such a scene as a brawl”_

_“You dance with the devil”_

_“He’s an excellent partner”_  
  


He gave a small grimace. “What question”

“Why you would be so overcome as to escort me here”

“You know, do not toy”

_“ What beauty lies enshrouded in that mask?”_

_“You know, do not toy” Benvolio was flushed, from the compliments or the heat of the masquerade, he did not know._

_“I do. Dost thou recognise my voice in turn?”_

_“Of course”_

_“Then do not utter it” Mercutio smiled. “If we are to do as I desire without shame in the face of dawns revealing light”_

_In silent agreement, they turned and left, keeping respectable distance, though most would be too drunk to remember or take notice. Arriving at Benvolio’s estate, they wandered round the back to where the orchard lay, enchanting in the cool eyes of the distant moon, its beams falling fickle through the trees._

_It was against one such tree that they had their first kiss. Warm and slow, with the urgency of intimacy and slow security of trust in vulnerability. The next morning, they spoke nothing of it, instead searching for Romeo, who had not come home last night, especially worrying for a Capulet ball they effectively crashed. Each privately blamed the incident on the others alcohol._

_Neither had touched a drop._

“I do. Dost thou recognise my heart in turn?”

“Of course”

“No-one knows that I live?”

“None but me and the surgeon. He is paid too handsomely to speak”

“Then we are free”

_“I am now free” Mercutio half smiled, fingers grasping for Benvolio’s_

_“You are dying” Benvolio choked out._

_“Don’t cry so. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. You shall at last be free of me”_

_“Free of you? What are you saying?”_

_“You would always have been better without me. Found a maiden to love, settle down with. Bene suits you so well. You’ve always been so good, and I was selfish enough to keep it, like hoarding the sun. And now you weep on a cold church floor”_

_“I am good because I have something to be good for. I could never have loved that maiden.”_

_“Could you have loved me?”_

_And Benvolio cannot answer because the surgeon is here and ordering him to move, telling him that the man he love will die here, hand in his hand, head In his lap._

“We are free” Benvolio echoed. “I love you”

Mercutio’s smile was the brightest, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“And I love you”

Two days later, they received word of Romeos death. Benvolio wept for his cousin, and Mercutio for his friend. They didn’t speak much, but always, their hands touched. After a week at the inn, together, they left Italy.

 

-By M


End file.
